


To An Unseen Friend

by PlumTea



Category: Fire Emblem: The Sacred Stones
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mythology, Deer Lore, Gen, M/M, Mild Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 14:13:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17367371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlumTea/pseuds/PlumTea
Summary: To consume an offering is to risk offending a god.





	To An Unseen Friend

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sumaru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sumaru/gifts).



> The deer is an inside joke.

The brush creaks as Lyon cleaves it away with his old knife. His feet are aching, and his back is sore, and he needs to rest. It feels like he’s going around in circles, and hopelessness is starting to creep in. He didn’t have a destination, but he knows his destination isn’t supposed to be more of the same.

By a small brook, two shrines sit side by side, carved out from the same stone. Moss has blanketed over the roofs, and even the swept altars have a greenish tinge. The insides are dark and hollow, and he can’t see the name of the deities enshrined, but his eyes are firmly fixed on the altar. Wrapped food is on the left and drink is on the right. His stomach gurgles. It’s been too long since he had a proper meal, and his hands are faster than his mind. He takes two bites and savors the taste before he realizes what he’s done. Putting the rest back, he hurries to the lake to avoid further temptation.

The lakeside doesn’t have much shade, but there’s a bit of comfort under the bend of a weeping willow. Lyon finds a patch of soft soil and closes his eyes. The forest is a constant muted symphony, but a small scraping is too discordant between the cicadas and the thrum of the brook.

“What makes you think you can just take my meal?”

Sleep peels away to the edge of his sleeve, then a black hoof. A billow of adrenaline sends Lyon’s eyes wide open, scrambling away from the towering figure before him.

It’s shaped like a deer but is far too majestic. Its horns branch out like an ornate spear, and a strip of long shed velvet dangles haphazardly from the right antler, fluttering in the breeze. Maybe it’s a trick of the light, but its pelt almost shines turquoise at the very edges of its form. Lyon’s breath shrivels and his tongue turns to dust. The god before him is brilliant like the crown jewels, so dazzling that any awe tumbles with fear.

“If you want the rest, then fight for it. Have a match with me!”

“I… I…”

The fire of the sun illuminates the sky, wrapped in a glimmer that washes over Lyon’s eyes.

The night meets him when he opens his eyes again, but the night is never this vast. Even the stars have been plucked from the sky, and Lyon feels frantically around. His hands find smooth grass and damp soil, but he can’t see any of it. The figure of the deer, like sunspots behind his eyes, are the only things that remain.

 

* * *

  

No matter how many times he rubs his eyes, shadows have blotted out the world. He feels for the loose stones bordering the brook running into the lake, following the flow of water up until the trees become wide. The grass gets shorter, trampled underfoot by years of passage, and finally smooth stone brushed by routine care.

Inside the shrine, he feels cold stone, firm wood, and finally the curves of script. If he can call a god’s true name, he can open a conversation. Following the lines, he traces a name, running over it until he’s absolutely sure.

“Eirika.”

Only the breeze meets him, but there is nobody waiting for him outside the woods, so Lyon makes himself comfortable and waits.

The heat of the sun isn’t as intense when light hooves drum behind him. “Have you called for me?” comes, distinctly female.

Lyon’s heart thuds into his stomach. He read the wrong shrine and called for the wrong god. “Sorry. I- I made a mistake.”

“My brother has seen to that. He didn’t do it purposefully, how reckless… still, you ate his offering.”

Sheepish, Lyon hangs his head. “I was so hungry.”

“There are consequences to that.”

“I know now.”

“I meant for my brother.”

There’s a note of concern in her voice, and Lyon wishes he could see what expression is in her eyes.

“I have to apologize. I didn’t mean to bother you, I thought that you were—.”

“That’s fine, he wouldn’t have responded anyway. He sleeps during the day. The nighttime is mine.”

Compared to the fires of the day, the peace of the moon has always made Lyon feel safe. Eirika’s voice has the serenity of the gentle dark, and the tension in his spine eases away. “Why did he ask to fight me?”

“He’s bored. Ever since the tribes up north took their shrines with them, Innes has stopped coming to bother him. It’s just us now.” Her sigh is a trickle of rain. “I don’t think he’s that angry, but he’s so stubborn. He wants something in return.”

“Will he come back?”

“If you ask him to, maybe.” Her voice shimmers away, the curve of the moon behind clouds, and he is alone again.

 

* * *

 

 Heat drums against his eyelids, and even through the shadows he sees sunspots in the shape of that majestic god. “Why did you call me here? Did you decide to fight?”

“Ephraim.”

Silence stirs. “Been a while since someone called me that. So, did you change your mind?”

“No.” It’s not cowardice, but resolution. “I did something wrong. I shouldn’t fight to take more from you.” If he committed a sin, then he’s ready to suffer forever.

“Oh,” comes Ephraim, disappointed.

Was that the wrong answer? “If that’s alright...”

“I guess?”

Lyon knows he’s too weak, just a sickly boy who had everything handed to him. Now, he’s lost and disappointed a god. “I don’t need to be a warrior.” But he needs to overcome this trial. “But if you don’t mind, I could stay here for a bit.”

Bird cries dissolve in the quiet.

“Alright, sounds good.”

 

* * *

 

It’s so strange to suddenly have a companion that Lyon has no time to think that he’s conversing with a god. He’d gotten so used to solitude that someone responding to his thoughts still startles him.

Even the gods wane, for when the sun simmers, Ephraim dissolves and Eirika appears in his place. She is a comforting presence, gentle down to her bones, but he has traced how her antlers are sharp as swords. They are one and the same, the violence of the morning and the peace of the night, and he loves them both. He adores her presence, and regrets that he has to sleep so that he has enough energy when Ephraim returns with the dawn.

Ephraim is a warrior, through and through. He is reckless, charging ahead too fast for Lyon to follow, and the lines of his body are a fierce pride that stirs up jealousy. Sometimes, Ephraim gets impatient and bucks Lyon onto his back so they can run across the wind’s surface, miles passing in moments. As the wind stirs Lyon’s hair, he feels the world pass him by and wonders if this is what it’s like to be free.

Lyon confesses that he’d never be able to survive on his own, so he set out to learn his own capabilities. He’d get stronger, learn the ways of the world, and when he returns home, his father would be able to retire in peace.

“To become a better ruler someday is admirable. Not bad!”

It’s the first time someone has praised him without restraint, and Lyon feels a heat warm his cheeks.

One time, Lyon musters up the courage to touch Ephraim’s fur. What is soft and ragged becomes wet and uneven. Lyon bristles with worry, but there is no tremble in Ephraim’s voice when he asks, “What’s wrong?”

“You’re hurt.”

“Oh, that. Don’t worry about it.”

Lyon traces the pattern and finds the same notches when he rubs the upper crown of his teeth. “Did I do this?”

“An offering is left to us to be our nourishment, to become part of us.”

“I didn’t know.”

“It’s fine, you couldn’t.” When Lyon pauses, full of fear, Ephraim says, “Alright, enough of that! Don’t mope around, look forward!”

He hears the grin in Ephraim’s tone and knows to smile too.

The sun kills him softly, softer still.

 

* * *

 

“I’ll fight.”

“I thought you didn’t know how to fight.”

“But you like it, don’t you? I want you to have fun too.” He knows Ephraim enjoys their talks, but burns for battle even more. “I’m traveling to get stronger. What better way than having a match with a god?”

Ephraim’s laugh is merry. “That’s a good attitude! Come at me!”

A human is no match for the storm that sweeps the treetops. His father’s hunting knife is in his hand, but Lyon wouldn’t know where to thrust it. Without his sight, he hears the ground break under the clatter of hooves.

He hears Ephraim turn around to streak towards him again, and steps slightly to the right.

Pain erupts below his elbow, and Lyon is blown backward. The harsh ground meets his back, and his father’s knife is knocked somewhere far away. Blood pours out of his arm and diffuses into the soil, and beneath his elbow is an empty space.

“Why didn’t you dodge?” comes Ephraim, and Lyon hates the worry in his voice.  

“I did, you were just too fast.”

“I’m not that stupid.”

Lyon chuckles, his secret gone free. “I ate your offering, your body.” Growing up is learning how to take responsibility. “So take what you owe.”

“This is unequal payment. You’ve given too much.”

His travels are stretching out still. Now that he’s had company, the ache of loneliness will hurt him with every step. “Will you accompany me?” Pain pangs his tongue, but Lyon persists. “You’ll still get your offerings. If you’re tired, you can always go back to your shrine. But if it’s possible, I’d like that.”

The day is fading quickly.

Lyon’s pained breathing eclipses the crunching of bone and the squelching of flesh. Even if his arm is no longer attached, he’s aware that it exists somewhere. With every bite, he forgets that his arm was ever a part of him.

“I’ll ask what Eirika thinks.”

 

* * *

 

 The night whispers, “You’re so reckless,” and Lyon has no counterargument.

This is his punishment for staring directly into the sun.

 

* * *

 

Lyon is awake still when Ephraim sits beside him at the dawn. The morning light is thin at first, and they wait in silence as it grows stronger and the birds start to sing.

“I’ve been here forever.” Ephraim sounds thoughtful, almost mournful. “I had a father and I have a sister, but that doesn’t mean I was born, or shaped or made. But I am here, somewhere along the line I was given a title and became not a nameless calamity but a god. People have always prayed to me for many things, but mostly success in war. There’s always someone who wants blood spilled somewhere.”

Lyon never asked Ephraim what he was the god of. It always seemed rude to ask.

“Even now, people ask me for many different things, for bravery even though the tribes have peace. Eirika always says to let the people do what they want, but… it is always asking. Nobody has ever asked me what I wanted, only assumed.”

It still hurts to speak, but Lyon asks, “What do you want?”

“Not sure. A good fight, for sure. But it’s been too long since I had an adventure of my own.”

Lyon reaches up to the crown of spearlike antlers. “Sharp.”

“The sharpest,” Ephraim says proudly. “What warrior am I if I can’t face the outside?”

“A warrior still.”

“Not like you.”

Lyon flushes. “No. I’m a coward who ran away from his responsibilities.”

“But you started a journey and you’re going to continue it, right? And you’re the only one to offer a god something they want instead of assuming.”

Losing his eyes to the sun isn’t the worst setback but losing a companion would be. Lying would be even worse. “I’m glad my request made you happy but I’m not that righteous. I’d feel lonely being by myself, that’s all.”

“That’s fine. You’re kind anyway.”

“Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

The sun is high in the sky, and Lyon returns to his journey, his unmapped roads, his worn shoes, his weary limbs, and he is not alone. 

 


End file.
